i can feel the cold changing us inside (come under the covers)
by Corlee
Summary: A little post-Underworld spec. Emma notices that Killian just isn't the same after bringing him back and takes it upon herself to use the light once more.


His irises still had specks of dark gray floating within the waves of blue. Hades had said that it would take awhile for all of Styx to leave him, for him to fully regain his soul. They had an eventful evening full of welcoming arms and pats on the back, but this time it was different. Emma saw him drink, though it looked like it stung his throat with every swallow. She saw him forcefully eat half a grilled cheese and cover up his winces with small smiles. He tried to laugh, but she noticed his fingers grip his knees each time. He was willing for his soul to come back faster, putting on this mask to make her feel that he was okay, that he was still the same Killian.

Emma knew better. She pulled him into one of the open rooms upstairs in Granny's and held him close. He stood there at first, his eyes focused on the ground, his hands slowly but loosely touching her back as if he couldn't remember how to hold her.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry if this was too much, too soon."

He seemed to shake away the concern but barely spoke above a whisper. The smile-wince returned. "No, it's okay. It's just odd…being back. I still feel cold…" She put her hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing the scar under his eye, her fingers stroking the space above his ear. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, a flush of warmth magically appearing in his cheeks. He nestled into it, his eyelids fluttering back open again, waiting for the moment to exhale. "Emma, what if it will always be a part of me?"

"Shhh," she whispered, placing her other hand on his heart, her heart, her other half. "We both survived the darkness, and together we always will. You'll _always_ have me with you." He leaned in at that, catching her lips with a shaky breath, his fingers trembling as they softly touched the side of her neck. Emma pulled away and looked at him. The wisps of Underworld were still there, haunting in the background, swimming in the ether around them. Emma furrowed her eyebrows, determined to fight against the cold. "Trust me?"

He would always. He nodded, taking a half step back. Emma's hands touched the lapels of his jacket, going up and down along the seams, feeling the remnants of ash in the leather. She pulled them away, softly shrugging the jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall the floor. His shirt, which he hadn't thought of or had to time to change, still had stains and rips, still reeked of brimstone. His skin underneath was speckled with goosebumps. She undid the buttons slowly, watching his chest go up and down, his breath catching but not releasing. Her hands went up to his shoulders, pulling the fabric away, a pile now on the run-down carpet at their feet. Emma flexed her fingers, her confidence now certain, and placed her hands on his chest. She closed in on the space between them and stood on her toes to kiss him again.

For a moment, she felt his trepidation, his reluctance – he didn't want to hurt her again. She pulled at his bottom lip just slightly, tasting the cocoa and rum (she saw her father sneak in a little bit when he thought they weren't looking, she smiled at the effort) in his mouth. He let out a small moan, an aching that she had missed, a desire that was starting to break from the surface. A small light was emanating from her palms, hues of pink and gold taken straight from the twilight, pulsing in the limited space between them, a halo of warmth. She pulled away, letting him linger, as she pulled her shirt over her head and placed her hands on his waist, leading him to the old couch in the center of the room. She sat him down and straddled him, her hands on his neck, the light cascading over his shoulders and clavicles.

In between kisses, she paused to look at his face, moving the wisps of his hair from his forehead, touching the corner of his eye as the specks slowly started to fade, memorizing every mark, scar, line of skin like it was a map. She never wanted to get lost again. His arms circled around her waist, bringing her closer, his hips starting to rock up and down. She loosened his belt, never leaving his lips, feeling the light come through every pore now. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, his breath now shaking, his body coming back to him in rushes. He recalled the first storm he had faced on the sea, the water beating and battering him as he clung to the helm, smiling from corner to corner. His men thought him insane but all he focused on was the horizon of light at the end of the storm – the clouds not daring to touch her, the promise of a new day just within reach. He pushed and pushed her, rocking her up and down against the waves, his body aching and broken yet brimming with life. The light was his. It was always his, no matter how deep in the storm he was.

He opened his eyes then. Emma was shining with magic, her presence almost blurry, small bulbs of light floating all around the room. She leaned in and rocked back and he felt like he could finally breathe out, the iron in his chest loosening. "Emma," he moaned.

Her lips landed on his shoulder, her skin warm against his ear. "Yes?"

"Say it again." It was a request more than a statement, but his words were failing him now.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at the realization of what he wanted. Of what he had always wanted. It was easier now, effortless. "I love you, Killian Jones."

He smiled, the last of the frost finally leaving. "Gods, I love you," he replied. Emma laughed, the same miraculous laugh she had given him when he first uttered the words back in Camelot. The lights had begun to dim just slightly, the bulbs turning from a frosty pink to a starlight blue. Despite the cold outside that echoed in the lines of the walls around them, Killian wasn't shivering anymore. She was the horizon. She was the day he fought and swam toward. He was tired of the night, of the dark. He lifted his body up, her legs anchoring around his waist as he led her to the bed and set her down gently. With her glow, the ivory, cotton duvet looked like the moon was engulfing her. He lowered his hips onto hers, his legs entangling with her own, the smell of brimstone now gone and replaced with her tones of cinnamon and peaches.

There they stayed for hours, watching the sun peek in through the window, the rays sneaking in and overshadowing the last bit of Emma's own light. She was asleep now, the last of the bulbs dimming away like fireflies at the end of summer, promising to return when needed. Killian closed his own eyes, and for the first time in eons, didn't dream, didn't stir, just slept.


End file.
